


Just Surviving

by WayfaringWriter



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Curses, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Mentions of PTSD, Moral Dilemmas, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Wade Wilson, Starvation, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Wade Wilson Takes Care of Peter Parker, Wendigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-22 21:29:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23300692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WayfaringWriter/pseuds/WayfaringWriter
Summary: Peter Parker had never thought himself invincible. He knew that many of his wins as Spiderman had more to do with luck or help from other superheroes than solely his powers.However when his luck ran out, he hadn't expected to lose his humanity as well.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Just Surviving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpiderKatana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderKatana/gifts).



> Title is from _**The Mountain** by **Three Days Grace** (so will be the chapter titles)_
> 
> This is inspired by a [prompt](https://spiderkatana.tumblr.com/post/188594890873) from **SpiderKatana** , my Spideypool hero ♥:  
> The day Spiderman ran into a ghoul for the first time, he didn't know how to fight her. They weren't supposed to be in the states. Ghouls were in Japan. Peter can fight a werewolf, or a shifter, hell, on one notable occasion someone set a wendigo free in the city and Peter captured it no problem. But he never needed to fight a ghoul, so he wasn't prepared and she almost killed him, but he woke up in a hospital, had a transplant and now he can't eat. He's starving and a part of him knows what he is, but he doesn't want to accept it. When he finds a dead body in an alleyway, he salivates over it and forces himself away, acid climbing up his throat at the thought, but it's been a week without food and he cries as he takes a bite. Then another. And one more until the kagune spread from his back. He hears a gasp and turns, blood covering his lower face as he looks around wildly but he finds no one. He thinks he's in the clear. Until someone starts leaving human organs on his windowsill.
> 
> I'm not familiar with Tokyo Ghoul, which the prompt runs off, but it did catch my attention, so I altered it into something I can work with. ( _*cough*That might have something to do with my recent Hannigram spree *cough*_ ) This should be 4 chapters at most, so... Enjoy?
> 
> _Sorry, literally anyone who could have come from my other non-Marvel fics. This is me, trying to unblock myself by way of procrastinating during exam preparation._ (^^') 
> 
> This is a seriously new territory for me, so any and all constructive criticism is welcome.
> 
> Also: READ. THE. TAGS! PEOPLE ARE EATEN IN THIS STORY! TURN BACK IF THAT'S ANYHOW TRIGGERING FOR YOU  
> (I promise it getts better?)

Peter Parker had never thought himself invincible. He knew that many of his wins as Spiderman - over the "lesser villains", as Avengers called them, which _rude_ \- had more to do with luck or help from other superheroes than solely his powers.

The reinforced chair he was bound to would imply that his luck had run out.

In his defence, he hadn't expected someone to kidnap him in broad daylight and drag him off to _Canada_ , of all places. Not that he would have known himself to be there if his captor hadn't informed him, the woman in question then proceeding to boast about the advantages of the bunker he was kept in. That kind of information could prove useful if he found a way to get it to Avengers. It could only cause problems if he did not. There was also the matter of having been taken mid-patrol and days before his regular check-in at the Stark tower. He would be missed, eventually. And he was going to be found.

Still...

"Canada? _Really_?"

Okay, so Peter was still a bit stuck on the fact.

The narrowed eyes of his kidnapper told him she did not appreciate his incredulity.

"No offence to Canada, ma'am. It's certainly a wonderful country. Beautiful nature, hockey, maple syrup and all that. But I've never been outside New York state and I'd very much like to be returned to NYC right about now, so if you could..."

"I assure you, there's a lot more to Canada than _hockey and maple syrup_ , Spiderman," the woman drawled, even as the look of disapproval intensified. "You 'superheroes' are so rude."

"First of all, I do take offence for those air quotes. But second and other than that? You're kind of right. I know nothing and you should release me. I'll look around, see all the Canadian sights that are a joy to behold and everyone goes home as if this had never happened. Sounds good?" Peter was not above dumbing himself down for the sake of freedom. Gods of all religions knew that he used the tactic often enough.

From the shark-like stretch of lips that only horror movie scripts might call a smile, he knew that this was not a person on which the tactic would work.

"Always _so_ very rude."

Peter hadn't expected to be taken at random. It still sent a shiver down his spine that she sounded so blasé even as she said " _always_ ".

"I think I'd rather have you explore the span of this _Canadian cell_ instead, Spiderman."

And as far as she was concerned, that was that. Peter wasn't even surprised when a sleeping gas filled the room immediately after her departure.

...

When the first tray with food had come, the Spidey sense went _insane_.

There was nothing wrong with the meal at first glance - aside from the fact that giving meat to a prisoner seemed way too generous with the level of irritation the woman had left with - it was a simple roast with potatoes. The guard who had brought it seemed as dispassionate about dropping it off as they come, though that might have had more to do with the length of Peter's chains - a step up from the chair, at least - than the quality of the meal on offer.

The meat smelled delicious, yet Peter's head wanted to rip itself at the seams at just the thought of touching it.

And so he didn't.

...

Not eating was not a problem, at first.

The Spidey sense seemed to have no opposition to the water brought, nor to the occasional greens or other side dishes. But if there was one thing about the spider mutation that Peter couldn't get past, it was the accelerated metabolism and his captors quickly caught onto the fact that their prisoner won't touch the meat as long as there was anything else on the plate.

By day six, the hunger cramps went from mild irritation to outright pain.

By day ten, Peter started feeling bouts of apathy about his captivity. It didn't seem that anyone was coming for him anyway, why should _Peter_ care?

By day fourteen - if it even was fourteen, who knew, he wasn't too sure - it hurt to stand up to get the water, nevermind kicking the plate back towards the door as he had done the first few times. The guards took to leaving the plate even closer for him to smell after that.

By day eighteen, Peter concluded that help wasn't coming and with it came bitter resignation. Only drinking the water simply wouldn't cut it.

They didn't even bother to cook the meat by that point, but any meat, be it raw, drugged and/or poisoned, was the lesser evil compared to none at all.

Dead spiders spin no webs.

A weak spider might overpower a guard though.

...

"Mr Stark?"

...

When Avengers collected him, some three hours after he called from the guard's phone, Peter couldn't even tell them what had been the purpose of the abduction. All in all, it only added up to kidnapping, starvation and a serious case of Canadian patriotism.

He hadn't been tortured. He hadn't been asked any questions. In fact, he hadn't even seen his captor since their conversation.

She had been long gone by the time Peter stumbled his way through the emptied bunker.

On top of it, the starvation part was also questionable, given that he _had_ been given food, albeit somehow tainted. Even digging through leftover records, he hadn't found out what was wrong with that meat. By the time the cavalry arrived, he didn't even care to. What he did care about was any _other_ food that he could get his hands onto and the moment they loaded onto the quinjet, the emergency stack of granola bars met a swift demise.

Peter might have or might have not ended up sick from overeating afterwards.

'Oh well, worth it.'

...

The first few days after his mostly self-rescue, Peter took time off to recuperate.

He kept getting sick after eating, which hadn't happened ever since he got the bite and had everything to do with having lost almost thirty pounds during his captivity. Thankfully enough, it seemed that his mutation was taking care of that. Only two weeks back in NYC and Peter looked almost the same as he had before he was taken. A month after return and he seemed to have gained some muscle mass in the process. Also, a random growth spurt? Who would say no to that?

If only he could keep the food down, that would be awesome.

It also hadn't seemed strange that his senses went into overdrive. New York could be overwhelming on normal days, nevermind when faced with it after close to a month in the near silence of the bunker. And so Peter put it aside.

It was okay that his ears hurt sometimes because of the screaming toddler three streets over. It was okay that he had to wear sunglasses indoors because the light reflecting off white walls hurt. It was okay that he had to carefully pick the softest of his soft clothes in order not to feel like he was encased in sandpaper.

'Would have had to make a suit to accommodate the new height anyway,' he thought. 'It's okay.'

What was decidedly _not_ okay were his tastebuds, which probably meant that he, by extension, was _not okay_. Whenever he had problems with hypersensitivity, it had affected either one of his senses or all of them. Never before had only one of his senses decided to go offline the way his taste did in the wake of the captivity. Added with the constant sensation of hunger, it made Peter rather miserable.

'Maybe not being able to keep down food is because I can't taste what I eat? Why doesn't anything taste good anymore? How can I go through the entire shopping cart in one meal, only to upchuck it moments after and _still crave something more_? Is that what PTSD feels like? Overcompensating because of a temporary lack?' Peter tried to rationalise, but while it might have made sense as a symptom in isolation, it didn't seem to fit well with everything else that had gone haywire in the wake of his return, did it?

The cherry on top, of course, was the realisation that his Spidey sense was suspiciously silent as well.

Also what the hell was happening to his hair?

'I'm way too young for grey hair,' he thought idly, finding yet more white strands as he turned in front of the mirror. 'Well, people can't see them underneath the mask anyway. Time to go.'

...

In his career as Spiderman, Peter had seen his share of dead bodies. Despite his best efforts, sometimes he just hadn't been quick enough to help; Hadn't been strong enough to protect the innocents. Sometimes he had been _too_ strong and it was the criminal who didn't get to leave the scene.

It became a little easier to deal with dead bodies. Eventually.

That didn't change the fact that Peter's stomach twisted itself into knots when he saw that body in the alleyway.

The scene wasn't anyhow gruesome, the man was quite obviously a victim of a mugging gone wrong. Several stab wounds, some blood, and an expression of pain frozen in time.

As he webbed away, Peter's gorge rose not because of the sight itself.

It rose because of the saliva that he felt gathering in his mouth.

It rose because he had taken one look at the body and thought _fresh_.

...

When it happened again, several days later, Peter felt like crying.

The setting was not the same or even similar. There were two connecting factors though: A dead body and an increasingly overpowering _hunger_. An echo of hunger so similar to the days he spent in that cursed bunker. Because if not a curse, then what else could it have been?

It must have been the plan from the start, Peter realised, having him leave as soon as he ate what they brought him. He had only eaten for two days before he felt strong enough to try escaping, yet the guard hadn't put up nearly as much fight as he could have, given Peter's weakened state. He didn't need to. The purpose of Peter's involuntary "visit" had been accomplished, there was no reason to keep him any longer.

'What had been in that damned meat?'

Whatever it was, it was the only explanation of the thoughts running through his head as of late. And the reason why he had to stop himself three times from returning to that second body.

Peter didn't want to listen to those twisted urges. He _didn't._

He tried simply not going on patrol but added to the fact that he had to work, thus go out anyway, it only took an encounter with a junkie who knifed a passerby's arm that he realised that heightened sense of smell was _not_ an advantage.

Damned if he didn't patrol. Damned if he did.

Would the city be better off if he took himself out of the equation? Maybe. But Peter decided that instead, he should try to do some good before whatever they had done to him took over his mind.

And so he fought with the hunger. And he won.

He fought. He won.

He fought-

Statistically, there is at least one _reported_ murder every other day in NYC. It was inevitable that all too soon he wouldn't be able to contain it.

...

He tried to help her. _He tried to help her_.

And yet -

After he webbed her killer to a lamppost six blocks over, where the police were more likely to find him. After he swung himself to his apartment and assumed the identity of Peter Parker because even on the brink of desperation, he didn't want Spiderman associated.

\- he returned to her body and instead of pressing her eyes closed, as he had intended, he dipped his fingertips in the blood that had gathered in the indentation above her clavicle.

"I'm sorry."

Her body had visibly paled in death, yet her blood clung to remnants of the warmth of a living body. And there was _a lot_ of blood; He could hear its siren call from all around. Murders by way of slit throat tended to cause that.

His entire arms shook with the last shreds of resistance in a fight that his legs had already lost.

Further and closer. Further and closer. And closer. And closer.

The first touch of the blood to his lips filled Peter's entire being with a burst of flavour and nausea so strong he turned to vomit between the trashcans the murderer had chosen to hide the body behind.

Why did it have to be blood, that his tastebuds had decided to wake up for? He didn't want to know.

Yet at the same time, he knew already.

He didn't even realise that he was leaning over the woman's body again until his tongue snagged on the slim chain on her neck.

"Oh my God."

Clear droplets diluted the rivulets of blood as they fell on her youthful face.

"I'm sorry."

It only took one bite to realise what meat his captors had been forcing on him.

"I'm so sorry."

What meat he had eaten. What they drove him to eat _again_.

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, God, I'm so sorry I'm sorryForgivemeImsorryImsosorry..." he kept repeating the words, despite knowing it meant little. Again and again, until they were barely more than a continuous whimper, interrupted only by shaking sobs and split seconds of silence it took to swallow.

Peter wasn't even surprised when his nails elongated and hardened, tearing through clothes instinctively to get at yet more flesh. It _did_ bring about a new pitch to the whine building in the back of his throat.

Except suddenly, the pitch spiked in the very moment Peter heard a sound akin to a sharp inhale, somewhere behind his back. And immediately Peter realised that it hadn't only been his agony, that had been steadily mounting, but also his Spidey sense which had chosen that moment to come back online.

Tearing himself away, Peter felt a new wave of nausea hit him as blood dripped from his entire jaw.

"Who- Who's there?"

He didn't expect anyone to reply. He expected an attack. A _kill_. Someone stopping the monster that he couldn't rein in. Instead, as suddenly as it had blasted an alarm, the Spidey sense went dormant once again.

Straining his newly _further_ enhanced senses as he could, Peter soon accepted that he was alone. With the apparent danger gone, Peter felt that the beastly part of him intended to return to feasting, however turning back to the body proved to be the final straw which jolted Peter back into control.

He hadn't killed the woman. He _knew_ that. Yet seeing the disfigured husk of a human being that he left of her-

"What did they turn me into?"

There was no one around to answer him. He was indeed the only living soul in the vicinity.

And so Peter knelt next to the dead woman and cried.

...

Getting rid of a body without leaving traces was not a skill Peter ever hoped to gain.

He didn't have a choice in the matter.

He knew he could have just thrown the body into one of the bays, as criminals were wont to do, but he wanted someone to find her eventually. He just hoped that by then, the missing parts could be explained by the copious amount of strays in the area and decay and no one would look any further. She deserved to be found. To give her family closure, if nothing else.

Ironically it was getting back to his apartment that proved more of a challenge.

Even having cleaned his skin of blood and his new claws disappearing - for the time being only, Peter knew - there were limited travel options for someone whose clothes screamed murder. All the more so, when one was paranoiac about Spiderman being tied to said murder. Because a blood-drenched man climbing the walls? Yeah, someone might make the connection.

The NYPD hated him enough as it were.

Making a quick decision, Peter got rid of his shirt and prayed that no one examined his black jeans too carefully as he sneaked through Queens by way of shadowy streets. A good thing he had, as well, given that the few people whom he met seemed _way_ too interested in his bare torso. Even having reached his apartment he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

"It's okay," he tried to calm himself, way beyond caring about signs of madness and all the jabs about talking to yourself. "No one followed you. You're here alone. Spidey sense is playing- dead."

In place of calming himself, Peter worked himself into hysterics several times, managing to talk himself down, eventually only to trigger himself once again. It was a long night and it was only as the light started to brighten the horizon that he more fell unconscious than asleep.

Waking up to his work alarm an hour later, he hardly felt rested, but he functioned on less, at times.

Going through the motions of his usual morning, he tried to talk himself into a clearer state of mind.

Whatever the monster in him was, it seemed temporarily sated. He would find out what it was. Any of the Avengers would help him if he reached out to them. And Spiderman might be strong, but so was Peter. He had had odds stacked against him before. He would persevere.

Of course, that was when he found the kidney on his windowsill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My google search from the past three days is a sight to behold. _(Help.)_
> 
> Anyway, I have ideas on how to continue, but I NEED YOUR OPINION.  
> The following chapter will be DP's POV, catching up and going beyond, so the main question is DO DP AND SPIDEY KNOW EACH OTHER AT THIS POINT? As in: Wade definitely wouldn't know Spidey = Peter either way, but are they acquainted as their alter egos?  
> A.k.a. Do you want indignant DP who all but murders Avengers when they can't find his Baby boy and keeps searching for him throughout the story or primarily DP who takes care of Peter? (The original prompt could have gone either way, soo..)
> 
> Also more details about the reasoning behind both the kidnapping and the change, yay!


End file.
